I'm a Lusbian!

Sup queers'nsteers,



After an enthralling goodbye party for Carlo, and an impressive display of the fastest hungover-packing job in history, we have made it to Lusby, Maryland. And therefore... I can officially say that she has turned me into a Lusbian... we all aren't until we are. And let me tell you, I am enjoying every minute of it. These folks know how to enjoy the finer things in life: boating, beaching, searching for petrified sharks teeth, and topping off the day with a friendly crab eating contest amongst friends. Carlo was a very close second to her dad, who knows a good crab when he sees one, but she did win the prize for messiest at the end of the meal. Congrats! You did it! We have two more days of relaxing here and soaking up the sun (although we will all probably be too burnt to move tomorrow) before we hit the road again.



Our next stop, unless fate has other plans for us, is Augusta, GA. We are making room in the car somehow and picking up our dear friend IRA, who will join us for few days until we get to Texas.

I wasn't sure we'd make it this far, so here's hopin'. We got the attitude, we got the motivation, we got the sense of adventure, we got you behind us.

peace and blessings,

B.

Oh, you said separate checks! I thought you said separate limbs! My bad.

So I'm having a going-away BBQ the night before I leave. Shitty timing, because I have to work the day shift and then begin my epic travels, but I'm working every other night I'm in town from now until then, so I'll have to be careful with my hangover prevention, because friends don't let friends spend their last night in town sober. Or at least mine don't.

Speaking of work, I've noticed a trend on Facebook of people complaining about 8 and 9 hour workdays. Have I been on LSD my entire life or is that not the standard for anyone above the age of 15? I know servers/bartenders bitch incessantly, but in our defense, I think a server would be embarrassed to complain about anything less than 11-12 hours. We will, however, throw a fit over anything requiring more effort than using a soda gun. Ugh, coffee, really?! I bet you want a water with lemon, too, you sick fuck.

Happy Birthday Nina!

Nina was born 22 years ago today! Thanks to Nina's parents for her life-like life (and consequently, my collective life-like life)! I love you, Neens.

You know what really bugs me?

Clothes. I hope they don't have them in California.

I mean, I know from all the "money shots" of starlets getting out of limos that you are more likely to find a herd of unicorns, drama-free lesbians, or any other such imaginary creatures than a pair of undies that covers your kitty. If stars can't use all their money and power to track down a pair of underwear, then surely this article of clothing must be non-existent on the West Coast, right? This could be a good sign... I hope it's just one giant nudist colony.

(It may or may not be really effing hot in my room right now)

Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of post-structuralism.

Today, I began packing. By which I mean I unpacked the boxes I hadn't unpacked when I moved to Northampton and repacked them in different arrangements into different boxes.
I meant to get organized and get rid of a lot of stuff, and I did get rid of some stuff, but not nearly as much as I wanted to, and now the stuff that's left over doesn't really seem to go with anything anymore. I worked for seven tedious hours only to end up in the exact same place I began, and the journey was just obnoxious. It was like trying to follow a post-structuralist anthropologist's "argument"... except the only words involved actually exist, and there was less blood on the floor when I was finished with it.

What? Don't look at me like you don't beat the shit out of things that don't make sense to you .

The Plan

Before my roadtrip, I am stealing Bailey (aka Beeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaa). Where's Bea? New York. But Next week, I'm picking her up, and we'll be in the valley for almost a week. Bailey will join me for the first half of the trip, and Nina will join me for the second half, so expect both of these sassy ladies to contribute to the blog. We're going to take a hundred bazillion pictures too.

Here's our itinerary of important places. We will need to stop in the middle of nowhere sometimes, but no one cares about that, so these are the places shaping our route:

-- Albany, NY. Pick up car, say goodbye. (July 23rd -- 26th)

-- New York, NY. Pick up Bailey, say hello. Visit Chiara. (26th -- 27th)

--Northampton, MA. Finish packing, say goodbye! (30th or 31st)

-- Lusby, Maryland. Visit my dad and stick around for a day or two to play on some boats.

-- Huntsville, Alabama? Not sure yet -- it was my former hometown, where I lived for 6 or 7 years. Depends how sappy I want to get.

-- New Orleans, LA. Because it's on the way and I've never been.

-- Texarkana, TX? Where I was born. 6 hour detour -- probably not going to do it, but once again, I could get sappy.

-- San Antonio, TX. PICK UP NINAFACE :D Put Bailey on a plane for Colorado :(

-- Grand Canyon. So I can see something wider than your mom's ... smile.

-- Las Vegas, NV. Visiting Shauna, my childhood best friend. NOT being drunk gambling idiots. Not my scene.

-- CALIFORNIA! First to Los Angeles, CA to visit Arielle and Grace (if they will have us) and drive around at a slow crawl, if traffic permits even that, getting to know the place. Then onto Monterey, CA, to see the aquarium, then head 2 hrs north to San Francisco, CA. Unload my stuff, visit with long-lost family, apply for jobs in LA and SF, look for places in LA and SF, look at cars, etc, all while attempting to convince Nina to move in with me somewhere. After a week or two, back to Los Angeles, CA. Fly out, play around some more, check out apartments, maybe some interviews if I'm lucky... oh, and KELLITA!


FIN.

Why, you ask? The short answer is crunchies. If you'd like to hear my self-indulgent prattle, keep reading.

So I'm moving to California. No, I don't have a job there. No, I don't have a good reason to go. But I don't have a good reason not to go either. As a migrant, I have a very romanticized view of throwing my shit in a car and going someplace 'cause I feel like it, bitch. Like I said, very romantic. I also have a bucket list, and picking up and moving to California is on it.



The story goes like this:

One picturesque New England spring day, one of my besties Arielle and I decide to meet up for some much needed back massages, as Mount Holyoke has decided it would be fun to rape us with the clock tower in lieu of finals, and we are feeling a little less than comfortable. We emerge from our respective study spots, which in reality were probably cozy little spaces tucked within the bowels of the Hogwartian library, but my memory is recalling a dark windowless room with a solitary metal chair -- there is water dripping from the ceiling onto my head and pooling at my feet, which now resemble dried apricots. My laptop is in my lap (appropriately), but it seems to have a water force field around it, because it remains dry and intact as I slave away writing Facebook status updates about how I'm slaving away.

So Arielle and I see the sun for the first time in days, and because I apparently think of the library as a sweatshop, I tell Arielle, "I've got to get the fuck out. Let's just get in the car and go to California or something," while I massage her back with unnecessary aggression, muttering about crunchies and otherwise being creepy.

"I've always been told I'd love LA," she coos. She admits that the thought has crossed her mind more than a few times. Over the course of the next hour, we switch roles, and continue to plot our move to LA at the end of August. Arielle's small hands move with surprising strength underneath my shoulder blades, and with firm, fluid motions, she is able to persuade my knots into submission. I drool all over her pillow. (What -- you expected a sexy lesbian love scene? Who do you think I am, Carlo? ... oh wait.)

A week later we admit via text that we were joking, but we can't stop thinking about the idea. Of moving.

Next thing I know, Arielle is going to LA and I'm still in Northampton unable to find a job that doesn't involve asking people whether they want fries or cole slaw with their burger. Poor Kellita has to listen to me ask her a thousand questions and tell her the same things over and over about my plans to go to California. She watches them take shape.

However, the plan changed yesterday, because I've been offered a place to stay in San Francisco for a bit, I'm going to temporarily live there while I check out jobs/apts/etc. in both locations and decide whether I want to live in SF or LA.

I can say with 60% certainty that my glorified view of this move to California has nothing to do with the epic massage Arielle gave me while we were talking about it. Okay, I'm lying. More like 49%. I am 30% sure I will not let her epic massages be a deciding factor in my choice of city. I mean, if Grace is willing to let me borrow her girlfriend every now and again, of course.